


Let Me Sleep Here

by lacedwithlilacs



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, PWP, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacedwithlilacs/pseuds/lacedwithlilacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>E/R femslash. Grantaire is drunk and waiting in Enjolras' bedroom, but when Enjolras returns home, Grantaire is not the only drunk one. This is basically all porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Sleep Here

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on this (http://al-lamp.deviantart.com/art/LesMis-Fem-E-R-364189285?q=gallery%3Aal-lamp&qo=0) piece of art.
> 
> I did not do any sort of research for this fic either, so excuse all of the historical inaccuracies. I tried to stay clear of specifics but there are probably a plethora of errors anyways.

The door opens in front of Grantaire, the sound of the latch pulling back and the creaking of the hinges as the heavy wood swings open pulls her gaze upward. The figure isn't clear, her vision is heavily blurred by, if she's counted correctly, almost 4 whole bottles of wine. The bright red coat and the strikingly black trousers and boots strides in with waves of blonde rolling down his, _her_ technically, shoulders. "Grantaire," the angelic voice says and Grantaire smiles instinctively just hearing her name fall from the beautiful pink lips. The voice is annoyed.

The sketchbook is heavy in her lap as Grantaire tries to lift it up, throwing it to the side with her pencil on top of it. She reaches to her immediate left and grabs the almost empty bottle, bringing it to her lips and tilting it upwards and letting the last drops of the wine drain into her mouth, hoping that Enjolras has caught sight of her neck. She hopes Enjolras' eyes are trailing down the long neck, to her collarbone and to the tops of her breasts, visible with her tie undone and the collar of her shirt unbuttoned.

"Grantaire," Enjolras says again as she shrugs her red jacket off, the bright colour is one of the few things that Grantaire can truly make out at such a distance. She sounds less annoyed now, but there is still the chiding, scolding tone buried deep within Grantaire's name. "Why are you here?" she finally asks as she comes closer to the drunkard, pulling her boots off as she crosses the room. Enjolras sets them together neatly underneath the desk opposite the bed and steps in front of Grantaire.

From below, Grantaire can only admire Enjolras' beauty. Beautiful features, all so feminine and wonderful and there are times Grantaire isn't quite sure how every member of Les Amis hasn't fallen completely in love with Enjolras, the leader who passes perfectly as a man to everyone save for Grantaire. Even with Enjolras' scowl as she looks down, her golden locks are falling over her shoulders and against her flattened chest, lips pale, nose upturned and her eyes narrowed, she is beautiful beyond compare. "Enjolras," Grantaire mumbles as she sets the wine bottle down beside her on the wooden floor and reaches up to pull on Enjolras' hips. "I could not remember the directions to my home. Let me sleep here tonight."

Reluctantly, Enjolras comes down and straddles Grantaire's hips, finally close enough that Grantaire can fully make out all of her features rather than rely on her memory. She sheds Enjolras' black tie and white shirt, leaving them huddled next to Grantaire's sketchbook and tuts her tongue at the bandages pressing tightly against Enjolras' breasts. Grantaire undoes the bandages with a skilled, quick, practiced motion, watching as Enjolras' chest slowly begins to reveal itself and her breasts become free. The bandages join the shirt and tie on the floor as Grantaire leans in and presses her lips against Enjolras', falling in love with the way that Enjolras doesn't even flinch or attempt to preserve any sort of modesty. Perhaps for once, Grantaire won't have to convince Enjolras to touch her.

Grantaire reaches forward, taking Enjolras' breasts into her hands and massages the flesh, rolling her fingers over sensitive skin. She slowly trails down Enjolras' neck and for the first time notes the strong stench of wine on Enjolras' own breath. Clearly, Enjolras is nowhere near as intoxicated as Grantaire, she's not even sure that Enjolras would even get close, but the loosened inhibitions are obvious by the way Enjolras lets Grantaire take her without much protest. Grantaire ghosts her mouth over Enjolras' nipples, pink against milky white flesh, breathing hot, moist air over the taut skin. Enjolras barely moves forward and Grantaire cannot honestly tell if it's Enjolras arching or simply her breathing in deeply, but her lips are suddenly fully pressed against the skin.

Enjolras does not pull backwards or protests, instead her breathing growing increasingly louder but only by mere fractions. "Such a beautiful woman," Grantaire says against the curves of Enjolras' breasts as she moves to the right. "It is a shame no one else can see your beauty as I can."

As Grantaire presses her lips against Enjolras' left breast, gently taking the nipple between her teeth and flicking her tongue against the tip, Enjolras pulls back suddenly, as though she's finally come to her senses and is about to kick Grantaire out. She is truly beautiful, Grantaire thinks to herself as Enjolras stands up and instead offers a hand to Grantaire. She tries to reach up and take Enjolras' hand, but her arm has somehow gotten stuck in the red curtains, as red as Enjolras' beautiful jacket, restricting Grantaire to her seat on the floor. "Enjolras," Grantaire whines softly, pleading for help.

Enjolras untangles Grantaire from the curtains, careful not to tear them, her face hard and annoyed at Grantaire's consistent sloppiness when she's drunk. She lifts Grantaire as well, hoisting her up with one arm against her back and the other tucked against the underside of her knees. Enjolras must be the strongest woman in the world, Grantaire thinks to herself as Enjolras places her on the bed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Grantaire catches sight of her skirts and frowns. "I've soiled the hem." They both look down at the ends of Grantaire's skirt, stained a dull red with the wine that she'd tipped over earlier. "Take the skirts off for me?" Grantaire asks, trying to push Enjolras further, see how much she can make Enjolras bend before she snaps. "I can't see straight." Enjolras growls softly, but complies and Grantaire wonders what must have happened to her tonight that makes her so desperate for Grantaire's touch suddenly.

Despite her wonderings, she knows that Enjolras will never tell her. Even though Enjolras is a woman herself, such things were still a men's world and as long as Enjolras passed as a man, she would not reveal those things to Grantaire. Instead, she lets Enjolras pull off her trousers and drape them carefully over the back of her desk chair and then Grantaire's skirts, kissing up Grantaire's bare thighs slowly and torturously. But Grantaire wants to spend the night here, tangled in Enjolras' sheets and perhaps even Enjolras' limbs, and it would be unwise to ask Enjolras to begin on her work. Enjolras at times, perhaps not tonight but there was no certainty, got off more on her speeches than she did to Grantaire's lips, tongue and fingers.

Grantaire unbuttons the rest of her shirt and vest, pulling them off of her torso and throws them in the direction of her sketchpad and Enjolras' shirt. The vest knocks over a wine bottle, but from the sound of it clinking to the ground, it's already empty. Enjolras snakes her way up Grantaire's stomach and to her chest, taking the large breasts in her palms and brushing fingers over the nipples, hardening at every touch.

They kiss roughly, Grantaire's fingers tangling in Enjolras' soft hair as she tries to gauge how much wine Enjolras must have had to be this desperate. She's Grantaire, she tells herself, the barmaid that the great Enjolras, Apollo, scorns for her heavy drinking and Enjolras must have had a large amount to be laying on top of the drunkard, rolling Grantaire's thigh between her legs and smearing her wetness against the pale skin. Grantaire places her hand on Enjolras' stomach, flat and soft against her fingers, and pushes her away gently, sitting up a bit.

Enjolras nods, almost reading her mind and stands up, letting them readjust with Enjolras on her hands and knees with Grantaire directly behind her. She loves Enjolras, she isn't afraid to admit it to herself, and she loves the way that Enjolras is so willingly to let Grantaire take the reins during sex. As though she were tired of leading every single other aspect in her life, she lets Grantaire who is used to only following lead Enjolras to her orgasm.

Their bodies mold together, Grantaire's large breasts pressing against Enjolras' back as she places light kisses against the scars from her bandages. Grantaire has long memorized the position of every scar in acute detail, so even with her vision blurred and her memory a bit hazy, she kisses every scar with the softest pressure of her lips. Her hand wraps around Enjolras' thigh as her other hand's fingers dip between the soft folds of Enjolras' lips, already slick and dripping. Enjolras, usually quiet with only occasional sighs, lets out a soft moan as Grantaire circles her clit and moves towards her entrance.

Grantaire presses her first finger in, sliding easily as she reaches Enjolras' lower back. She pulls away completely and flips Enjolras onto her back, Enjolras immediately throwing her thin, pale, gorgeous arm over her eyes as though embarrassed by her arousal and vulnerability. Grantaire takes her thighs into her hands again and spreads Enjolras' legs, opening her up. The great leader, Enjolras, a goddess in every way possible, laying on her back, thighs dripping with desire for Grantaire. She feels her own body twitch at the sight.

Without any sort of pause, Grantaire immediately licks deep, past Enjolras' outer lips, dragging her tongue up past Enjolras' entrance and against her clit. Enjolras clenches against her tongue, her hand coming already to tangle in her dark brown curls as she lets out a single, barely there moan. Perhaps Enjolras had more wine than Grantaire had initially thought. Grantaire starts her trail again, this time slower and she drags the tip of her tongue against Enjolras' clit even slower and with more pressure. Enjolras' fingers tighten their grip momentarily.

She teases Enjolras with long licks and slowly speeds up her tongue as she continues. When she feels that Enjolras is ready, she was ready minutes ago to be completely honest, Grantaire releases right hand from Enjolras' thigh and brings the first finger to Enjolras' entrance. It slides in again perfectly, Enjolras' gripping harder onto Grantaire's curls.

After a few thrusts of her finger, Grantaire adds a second and then quickly a third, pumping in and out of Enjolras' slick, tight vagina. Grantaire's tongue presses hard against Enjolras' clit as she licks up and down, back and forth, in circles. Enjolras is positively wild now, bringing her hips up to Grantaire's lips and trying to get any extra touch that she possibly can. Soft moans fall from her lips, like pure music to Grantaire's ears and Grantaire would do absolutely anything to hear those beautiful moans every night for the rest of her life.

She feels Enjolras' grip growing even tighter and her thighs begin to quiver, shaking barely and she comes, thrusting her hips up and her muscles contracting rhythmically against Grantaire's fingers. Slowly, Enjolras' hips come to lay back flat on the bed and her fingers pull out of Grantaire's curls. Enjolras' chest heaves steadily, her breasts rising and falling as Grantaire takes her fingers covered in Enjolras' orgasm to her lips and sucks them clean. Her goddess tastes like heaven to her.

Enjolras' eyes are locked onto hers as she takes the fingers into her mouth, Enjolras swallowing hard. She guides Grantaire with the gentle press of her fingers against Grantaire's shoulder, up above her. Grantaire is shorter, by a few good inches, but when she hovers above Enjolras in such a way, she can appreciate Enjolras without having her goddess look down upon her. She kisses Enjolras, Enjolras tasting herself as she licks her tongue along Grantaire's bright red lips. Enjolras presses her fingers against Grantaire's folds, spreading them and testing as though she's not sure if Grantaire is wet enough.

Grantaire feels Enjolras' fingers as they slide down past her outer lips and against her sensitive skin, two fingers immediately pressing against her entrance and slowly entering her. She rolls her hips, trying to get Enjolras to hurry up, but Enjolras knows every way to tease her. Enjolras pulls all the stops tonight, switching from two fingers to one, curling the finger deep inside of her and sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Enjolras reaches up with her other hand, taking Grantaire's breast and rolling her thumb around Grantaire's nipple.

Still, she keens for more, begging Enjolras, "Please, another finger Enjolras. Goddess, I beg of you, more." She keeps her voice hushed, so that only Enjolras can hear even if her neighbors were to push their ear against the wall and listen with all their might. Enjolras complies, Grantaire letting out a gasp and whimper at the same time immediately. Enjolras continues to stroke her insides, setting her body on fire and she brings her own hand down to her folds, regretting cleaning her fingers and being unable to use Enjolras' wetness to aid her own orgasm.

Her entire body lurches forward as she comes, biting down on her own finger to stifle herself as she lets her body contract and release. She collapses on the bed after Enjolras has extracted her fingers, about to wipe them on the sheets when Grantaire grabs her goddess' fingers and takes them into her mouth, moaning softly at the taste of them mixing together. Enjolras pulls her fingers away, clean and sits up.

Enjolras swings her legs over the edge of the bed as she takes a large, white night shirt from inside a trunk next to the desk. She pulls it over her head and forgoes pants, most likely to avoid dirtying them unnecessarily. "You must go home." Grantaire tries not to be surprised by the command, rarely does Enjolras ever show anything besides disdain for Grantaire outside of sex. "You are too drunk to stay."

Grantaire curls in on herself a bit, at least pulling her legs together and throwing an arm over her chest to cover her nipples. "Let me sleep here."

"Go and sleep somewhere else," Enjolras says as she lights a candle on her desk, pulling the curtains closed and cutting off the moonlight which had illuminated the room so brightly before, as though the room had been washed in the sun.

Grantaire takes the covers instead and pulls them around her, welcoming the entrapment of her body heat from the autumn air that was beginning to turn colder with the onset of night. "Let me sleep here, until I die." Enjolras frowns at her but doesn't say anything else, simply pulling her chair out from the desk and sitting down, presumably to work on literature to distribute or speeches to give tomorrow.

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but she wakes up in the morning with a throbbing headache, pulling the covers over her head to block out the sunlight. Enjolras is gone, but she hadn't bothered to kick Grantaire out when she left, so Grantaire counts her blessings and thanks her God. Honestly, Grantaire can't even tell if Enjolras slept last night at all or not as there is no indication from the position of the sheets, but she draws in her breath through her nose and wonders if the sheets actually still smell like Enjolras.


End file.
